Nevadans who lost an hour of evening daylight after rolling back their clocks four months ago must “spring forward” before bedtime Saturday to have an accurate clock reading on Sunday.

Fifty years of biannual timestamp tweaking persists despite the efforts of Lock the Clock Act advocates who during the 2025 legislative session sought to align Nevada with Arizona, Hawaii and several U.S. territories and opt out of federal daylight saving time (DST). The bill (AB81) passed in the Assembly with a 27-15 bipartisan vote and then timed out in the Senate Committee on Government Affairs.

What many may have thought was little more than a quirky policy debate was actually a redux of a decades-long disagreement between public health and safety proponents and economic and industry interests. (More on that in a moment.) Citing data showing that the artificial time changes wreak havoc on circadian rhythms and correlate with spikes in heart attacks, strokes, workplace injuries and car accidents, supporters of AB81 framed the measure as a commonsense move and an end to an outdated concept.

Flanked by a host of smiling transportation and broadcast industry lobbyists who had long pushed for consistent, predictable schedules across the country, the Uniform Time Act was signed into law by President Lyndon B. Johnson in 1966. It ended an undeniably chaotic patchwork of state-by-state and city-by-city time changes. 

Municipal griping about the loss of “home rule” and farmers irked by the long arm of federal law were not enough to stop the time-control train. The measure mandated that DST start on the last Sunday of April and end on the last Sunday of October, and required states opting for an exemption to enforce their norm across regions and jurisdictions.

Notably, Congress amended the act in 2005 to stipulate that DST begin in early March rather than late April and end in November rather than October — a puzzling change, unless the words “lobbyists” and “economic and industry interests” lingered in your mind as you followed along.

To understand why we acquiesce to the Earth’s angle and rotation for part of the year but otherwise are just not having it, one must tilt one’s thinking cap so as to block the blinding brightness of lobbyists’ smiles and ask: Which business sectors might want the maximum number of daylight hours so people will stay out later and spend more money on their stuff?

The interested parties are numerous, but three stand out. First up: Big Candy. Decades of persistent lobbying by the National Confectioners Association and its candymakers led to their hoped-for end date after Oct. 31. The Energy Policy Act of 2005 extended DST by four weeks, creating an extra hour of evening daylight during which children could trick-or-treat later and prompting millions of households to purchase more candy lest they fail to meet demand. Costume and decoration retailers also saw more business. In 2005, Halloween spending in the U.S. was estimated at $3.3 billion. In 2007, it was $5.07 billion. The power of an hour is great indeed.

Next up: The Golf Lobby. Industry data shows the creation of more evening daylight generated a boost in greens fees, equipment sales and clubhouse food and beverage checks. Research conducted by the golf industry back in the 1980s estimated that DST generated an additional $400 million in economic activity because so many golfers took advantage of the added hour of visibility. The annual revenue boost is now in the billions. (For those now wondering about DST-denying Arizona, its golf courses don’t see the early evening activity enjoyed by those in other states because the sweltering evening heat keeps players off the fairways and instead drives demand for cooler early-morning rounds — a fact applicable in Nevada.)

Finally: Big BBQ, along with retail suppliers of garden equipment, sporting goods and building materials. Lobbyists correctly contended to members of Congress that an extra month of sunlight was a “pro-growth” economic policy for their employers. All have enjoyed a nice boost in sales as a result of DST. The U.S. Chamber of Commerce and trade groups including the National Retail Federation have also argued that the impact is broader than niche hobbies. Their logic: When people have more evening daylight, they are more likely to stop at a store on the way home, which means they drive more, which means they use more fuel — and sometimes stop at a bar or restaurant before going home.

Back to Nevada and AB81. Industry opposition to the bill in 2025 echoed long-standing arguments that more evening light means more humans spending money and is therefore better for business. Objections also included the concern that a change would put Nevada out of sync with neighboring states, causing disruptions to commerce. Representatives of the resort and casino industry also employed a tactic familiar to longtime Carson City watchers: They argued that the bill was being rushed and vital stakeholders — including tribal leaders and members of the broader business community — had not been adequately consulted. Pro tip: When on Nevada’s four-month legislative clock, stall for time.

Nevadans who wish DST would disappear into an earlier sunset (suggested campaign slogan: “Some do not like it hot”) may yet find hope in a strange political bedfellow: California. In 2018, Golden State voters passed Proposition 7, a measure granting power to the Legislature “with a two-thirds vote” to “change daylight saving time if the change is allowed by the federal government.” Unfortunately for voters who thought they were pushing the ballot button for permanent daylight saving time, that is the one option the federal government does not allow. The success of the measure nonetheless proved there is a possible path for change.

Outside of a new federal law, states have two choices: Observe the time-shifting requirements or opt out of DST as Arizona and Hawaii do. The California and Nevada legislatures could choose to decree the latter — if it weren’t for the tourism, retail and recreation industries telling lawmakers dependent on their campaign donations to put that idea where the sun doesn’t shine.

Elizabeth Thompson is the founder of the parent company of The Nevada Independent. She served as managing editor and then editor-in-chief from 2017 to 2023. She lives in Southern California but still spends time in Nevada, where she lived and worked for 25 years. Contact her at [email protected].